


service

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Bootblacking, Come Swallowing, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Sub Will Graham, Voyeurism, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "I like doing this for you," he confesses.Hannibal smiles, petting through his hair. "I can tell," he purrs. "It's affecting me deeply, as well."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 381
Collections: Wendigo & Stag, hannigram





	service

They're beautiful, and Will can't imagine why he's never seen them before.

They're tucked in the back of Hannibal's closet, hidden behind his regular oxfords, his single pair of tennis shoes, his slippers. High-topped, in wonderful condition, though with a thin layer of dust that hints at their disuse.

Will takes them from the back of the closet with reverent hands, his fingers shaking as he touches the buttery-soft leather, the thick soles, the small line of fleece on the inside. The laces are loose, tucked into the inside of the boots, and he presses his lips together and runs his fingers through them like strands of hair. Tightens, pulling, shivering at the sound of the cords going tight within the eyelets.

He sets them back in their place, closes the closet door, and grabs his coat and keys.

He returns, haul in hand, checking briefly to make sure he's alone in Hannibal's house. Hannibal gave him a key soon after they started their relationship, and made it perfectly clear that he has no issue with Will coming and going at his whim.

Will goes back upstairs to Hannibal's bedroom, and closes the door. He washes his hands, and then kneels, taking the boots back out with another soft sigh. He takes out his bottle of water, saddle soap, and dauber, putting a small amount of soap on the dauber and dipping the bottle over it to wet it. He sets it all down, and takes the first boot, holding it gently in his lap as he starts to scrub it clean.

The soap foams a little as he works, the scent of it pungent. He knows Hannibal will smell it as soon as he walks in the door. The threat of discovery, of Hannibal smelling it and maybe even knowing what it is, what it's for, makes his heart race in anticipation.

He scrubs the boot to a fine sheen and wipes it with another cloth. He dips it in the tongue of the boot, carefully and thoroughly cleaning it of dust, and sets it down when he's finished, starting with the second.

The next cloth, he wets with mineral spirits, so that he can strip off the layers of polish already clinging to the leather. The material is so soft in his hands, and he closes his eyes in slow blinks as he works, sighing gently and gingerly pressing the toe of the boot against his cock, biting his lower lip to stifle the sound. He imagines Hannibal in these, that stern and imposing demeanor staring down at Will like a commanding officer, putting pressure against Will's cock as Will cleans his boots. Imagines Hannibal commanding that he uses his tongue. He whimpers, able to so-clearly hear Hannibal's voice as he works.

Once both boots have been stripped, Will sets everything down and opens the new jar of shiny black polish. He dips his bare fingers into it, shivering as the thick polish coats his skin, and brings the first boot back into his lap, closing his eyes and using touch alone to rub the polish in long, sweeping strokes into the leather.

The boots have gained his body heat, warm to the touch, so solid and wide in his lap. He spreads his knees, sighing gently as he works the polish into the heel, up and around the toe, over the sides and up to the boot's edges. He imagines Hannibal's foot inside it, feeling the pressure of Will's hands. Would he simply sit, and stare, watching as Will became lost in the repetitive motions, the scents, the heat of it? The humble joy of being at Hannibal's feet and treating his things with such delicate care?

Or would he sigh, and grind his heel, take Will's hair in his hand and make Will rut against his shiny shoes like a fucking animal, panting and worked up over this simple act of service? Will doesn't know, and his mouth waters at all the possibilities.

He sets the first boot down, dips his fingers in more polish, and starts on the other. His knees ache from being on the floor for so long, his ankles sore from carrying his weight, his cock hard and leaking, gently nudging against the markings on the sole. He wonders if Hannibal would care if Will ruined them with his come. If he'd demand Will start all over.

He finishes the first layer, and stands, rinsing his hands and fetching a hairdryer and extension cord. He plugs it all in and kneels again, drying the first layer, and starting on the second. The scent of the polish teases at his nose, reminds him of his time on the force. Protect and serve. He doesn't do much of the first anymore, being in love with and actively helping a monster of a man, but service, God, that is engrained in his very bones. Serving is a part of who he is; a part he can freely indulge in, with Hannibal.

Once he has melted four layers into the boots, he strips off his t-shirt, wrapping it taut around his fingers, and pulls out the last jar. Lincoln Stain Wax. The scent of it is, well, waxy, but oddly sweet too, like cloves and honey. He breathes in deeply, lashes fluttering, imagining this scent in his mouth when Hannibal fucks him. He wants to lick his fingers clean, but forces himself not to, with a huff of amusement at his own desperation.

He pours the rest of the water over his shirt and rings it out, so it's damp and not dripping, and wraps a small section over his fingers again, dipping it in the wax and setting the jar down. He cradles the boot in his free hand and begins rubbing small circles on the toe. It takes time, this part, and the shine needs practice and a sure hand to bring out, but Will is determined, and more than that, he's experienced with this. He can be patient.

Finally, after what feels like a year of methodical circling over the toe, a mirror-like quality starts in the boot, showing him his own reflection. And, he realizes with a startled gasp, Hannibal's. He was so lost in the meditational task of shining, he didn't hear him come home. Didn't hear him come in.

He looks up, knowing how he looks; flushed, shirtless, squirming and hard, with Hannibal's hidden boots sitting in front of him, one of them resting on his neglected erection. Hannibal tilts his head, an intrigued, hungry gleam in his eye.

He smiles, and sits on the edge of the bed, by where Will is kneeling, and gestures for him to continue.

Will's exhale is shaky, but he resumes his task, taking more wax onto his shirt and rubbing the next section of the boot. It's so much more intense, knowing Hannibal is watching him. He can't control his blush, can't control his racing heart. His fingers shake, too excited to remain calm.

He clears his throat, after a while. "Say something," he whispers.

He feels Hannibal smiling, hears it in his voice; "You look beautiful on your knees, Will."

Will sucks in a sharp breath, choking on the excess saliva in his mouth, and lets out a raw, ragged groan. His fingers flex on the heel of the boot, his circling rhythm stuttering. It's not unlike, he thinks, slightly hysterical, how he'd use his fingers inside Hannibal, or feel Hannibal inside him. Slow, easy circles to get the reaction he desires.

"Why have you never worn these?" he asks.

"There has never been occasion," Hannibal replies. "And I'm sure you'll agree, they were in no state to be seen."

"I'll clean them every day," Will promises.

Hannibal's head tilts again, that intrigued light shining more brightly in his pitch-black eyes. "Would you prefer I wear them, while you did?"

"I don't know," Will answers honestly. "Even this is…. It's a lot."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"God, no. Stay."

Hannibal hums, another smile gentling the corners of his mouth. He stands, and pets a hand through Will's hair, leans down to kiss his forehead. "Keep working," he murmurs. "I'll return in a moment."

Will nods, sighing as he sets himself back to his task. He listens, absently, to Hannibal going downstairs and into the dining room. Hears a cabinet opening, a soft clink of ice in a glass, a pour and stopper of drink. When he returns, it's with a glass of whiskey on ice, and the scent throws Will right back to his years on the force. He groans, pausing a moment, digging the sole of the boot tight to his cock so that it aches.

Hannibal pulls a chair forward, so he can sit in front of Will, knees spread so Will can see every inch of him, his legs extended to frame Will's knees. He holds his glass idly, lazy like old men do when they return from a war, reliving army stories with a drink in their hands and nostalgia in their hearts.

Will swallows. "Does the smell bother you?" he asks.

"Not at all," Hannibal replies. His eyes drop to Will's hands, grow a shade darker. He presses his lips together and cuts his teeth on the ice in his glass, taking a long, shallow sip. After a moment, he dips his fingers into the whiskey, until two of them are coated, and sits forward, offering them to Will.

Will takes them between his lips with a soft moan, closing his eyes as he takes Hannibal down to the base, sucking the sharp alcohol from his skin. Hannibal always makes everything taste so fucking good, and this is no exception.

Hannibal's fingers curl, hooking in his lower teeth, and Will opens his eyes. Hannibal smiles, and pulls his fingers out, cupping Will's chin.

"Next time, I'll wear them," he murmurs. Will groans, pressing the sole of the boot harder against his erection. He can see Hannibal thickening in his dark suit pants. Can smell his salty precum beginning to leak from his cockhead. "I think you would like grinding against me, working yourself into a fit just from cleaning them."

" _Fuck_ , Hannibal," Will breathes. Hannibal smiles, and rewards him with another dip of his fingers in the whiskey, sticking them into Will's mouth. He sucks them clean, threads his tongue between them and sighs when Hannibal presses his thumb behind Will's chin and pets over his tongue.

Hannibal looks down, and Will flushes as his jaw is released, to see that the first boot has attained a brilliant mirror-like shine all over. He sets it down with shaking hands, and takes the other one, placing it in his lap.

He dips his fingers in the wax again and moans when Hannibal's hand wraps in his hair, tugging gently. He lets his neck go lax, bites his lower lip, and watches himself work through lowered lashes.

"Do you like the pressure, Will?" Hannibal asks idly, curious and low.

Will nods.

"And cleaning the boots?"

"An act of service," Will breathes.

"A deeply intimate one, caring for someone's clothes," Hannibal murmurs. "As much as feeding your partner at your table. Killing for them, and filling their belly with your offering."

Will's exhale is quiet, and shivery.

"I like doing this for you," he confesses.

Hannibal smiles, petting through his hair. "I can tell," he purrs. "It's affecting me deeply, as well."

Will lifts his eyes, his throat tight, his head on fire. "I can tell," he says. Hannibal's desire has always sat on his shoulders like a warm coat, wrapping him in heat and desire. He is so attuned to this man, his mate, his monster, that just a look in Hannibal's eyes is enough to sweep Will up in his tides, helpless as a little boat swept to the wide ocean.

Hannibal's smile is warm and welcoming. He leans back, releasing Will's hair, and letting his hand drop to his trapped erection. He releases it, the unbuttoning of his suit packs and the release of his zipper teeth holding Will's wide-eyed gaze, before he reaches in and pulls out his cock. It's flushed and hard and wet at the tip and Will _whimpers_.

"Keep going, Will," he purrs, watching Will through lowered lashes, hand stroking himself smooth and lazy.

Will presses his lips together, looking down at the boot as he brings it to a similar shine as the other. But he can't keep his eyes away from Hannibal's cock, and his attention is split in two. His cock hurts as he grinds it against the sole of the boot, his fingers tender and wet and slick with polish and water.

Hannibal sips his drink, shows his teeth as he sucks in a breath, jaw bulging as he continues to stroke himself. Will whines through his teeth and finally sets the boot down with its twin, grinding the heel of his hand against his cock, clean hand braced on the floor as he leans in, desperate for a taste.

Hannibal smiles, and extends his foot, giving Will his leg to grind against. It's debasing, humiliating, absolutely fucking filthy, but Will grips his pants leg with his clean hand and rides the laces of his shiny leather shoe. Hannibal feeds him his cock and wraps a hand in his hair and Will groans, swallowing him down to the root, throat bruising and tender like he's been screaming.

"Take yourself out," Hannibal snarls, and Will obeys, pulling the shirt from his hand and fumbling at his clothes. He releases his cock and strokes himself quickly, choking himself on Hannibal's cock as Hannibal fucks his throat in smooth, slow motions. "Good boy. You're so beautiful like this, Will."

Will chokes, gasping.

"Serving me, so desperate to please."

Will _whines_.

"So beautiful. I'm going to finish, darling. And you're going to swallow it all, aren't you?"

Will nods, sucking as hard as he can, red cheeks hollow, lips sealed tight. He grunts as Hannibal tightens his grip and forces him all the way down, cock pulsing thick and spilling hot and wet over the back of his tongue, straight down his throat. Will gags around it, come flooding his mouth, but he swallows it because he's good, he can be so good, he wants to serve.

Hannibal sighs, such a heavy noise of satisfaction.

It's enough for Will. He comes with a choking whimper, closing his eyes as he spills over Hannibal's shoe and the bottom of his pants leg. He gasps, gagging around Hannibal's cock in his mouth, and Hannibal pulls him off slowly, a controlled motion that makes Will moan.

"Oh dear," Hannibal murmurs, looking down pointedly at his shoe. Will flushes deeply, biting his lower lip. Hannibal cups his chin, leans in and kisses him deeply.

Will is gasping when he pulls back, and Hannibal gives him a smile with teeth. "Lick it up."

Will groans, breathless and weak with adoration, and lowers his head to obey.


End file.
